


Gritty Fhtagn

by disturbuniverse



Category: Men's Hockey RPF, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Genre: Body Horror, Eldritch, Gen, Gritty, M/M, old gods of hockey mascots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbuniverse/pseuds/disturbuniverse
Summary: The Fab Five do a mini-episode making over Gritty, the Flyers mascot. Things go...fine.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 55





	Gritty Fhtagn

**Author's Note:**

> cannot believe the first thing i've written in over ten years is...this.
> 
> have i, fully, seen the mini-episode of queer eye making over gritty? no!
> 
> have i seen more of a season of queer eye? no!
> 
> was i possessed to write this instead of doing my actual job that pays me money? yes.
> 
> thank you to the rpf channel in the toastlifeboat slack. you all know who you are and you all are amazing.

Antoni likes Philadelphia. Sure, it doesn’t have anything that matches New York or Los Angeles, but the people are nice and they have a _fantastic_ food scene. It’s been a good season. Which is why, when the Flyers contacted them and asked whether they would be willing to do a mini-episode with their mascot, as a fun internet joke, they jumped at the chance. Everyone loves Gritty--Antoni’s seen the online jokes. It would be fun. They wouldn’t even have to do anything--just go with Gritty and do all the usual things with him that they do for other heroes, then at the end proclaim him perfect and that nothing needs to change. A relaxing end to their helter-skelter trip around the city. 

It’s a mascot. What’s the worst that could happen?

***

“Alright, everyone!” Jonathan trills, twisting his body towards the back seat. Antoni, driving, groans as Jonathan’s shoulder nearly hits him. “We’re meeting Gritty today! Gritty is the mascot for the Philadelphia Flyers--a big ol’ fuzzball! Look at him!”

“I’ve seen him,” Karamo says. “He’s big and orange and has got crazy eyes. Says he’s only a year old, and is also the reason the Liberty Bell cracked. Also says that he loves his team and the captain, Claude--”

“Claude, honey,” Jonathan says, twisting the syllable so it sounds like “cload”. “He’s French.”

“Yes, Claude”, Karamo emphasizes. “And that he has a...house? Space. He has a space under the rink.”

“Yes, Gritty’s a proper cryptid of a mascot. Oh, it’ll be so sweet!” Tan says. “This will be such a cute little mini-episode. We can go in, chat, it’ll be fabulous.”

A great way to end the Philly season, Karamo thinks. It’s a good way to play with the image of Gritty, and the public loves him. Him? It? He should look that up before they get to the arena. 

There’s a note attached to the folder that the flyers management dropped off. Handwritten, unlike the neatly typed up instructions for how to get into the building and the episode layout.

“Don’t look it directly in the eyes,” it reads. “It bites.” It’s only signed by the number 19. 

Huh, Karamo thinks. Weird. They’re really playing up the whole cryptid nature of this mascot. Should be interesting to work with, might make the episode a little spicier. He passes the folder to Bobby, who raises his eyebrows and says nothing.

***

“Wow,” says Jonathan as they enter the Wells Fargo arena. “I forgot how much I love the smell of ice.” He looks longingly out on the clear surface of the rink. “Thank god I’m gonna be able to skate out there later. This is going to be--”

What Jonathan thinks the experience is going to be goes unsaid as they enter the home team’s locker room. Inside, on a metal chair, is Gritty, already dressed and ready to go. It--or at least, the person inside it--turns sharply to look at the group as they walk in. In its hands is something small that glints in the light. Its eyes move gently and independently with each other with the force of its movement.

“Is everything ready to go?” Tan asks the security guard standing at the corner of the room. They nod once, silently. Tan looks around, making sure all the camera equipment is set up, and finds it ready to go, the camera operators and the crew looking back at him. There’s a strange...blankness to their faces, an impassivity, but they have everything set up, already, so…

“Great!” he says. “Let’s do an opening walk in again, shall we?” Gritty says nothing. Tan takes that as tacit permission and motions for the rest of the Five to back up, in order to do the walk-and-greet again. Gritty doesn’t move, just sort of...looks at them. Tan looks at the rest of his boys. “Let’s do this right,” he says. They all nod at him, and take their positions.

“Hi, Gritty!” Tan tries again. Gritty hasn’t moved since their initial entrance; its eyes seem to be fixed on all of them at once. 

Not to be deterred, the five of them run through their usual patter, their usual introductions and setups. They’ve been doing this for five seasons, now; each of them know their place, like a well oiled machine. Gritty takes them all in silently from his metal chair.

Eventually, however, they run out of words, and the silence hits like a blow. They all stand, waiting; Tan has the uncomfortable feeling of waiting for a starting gun. Then, all at once, Gritty stands. Its shoes squeak. It does...something with its arms, something strange but seems to be an invitation.

_Let the wild rumpus start_ , Tan thinks all of a sudden. He doesn’t know where it came from. He’s not sure it came from anywhere.

Gritty suddenly starts heading towards the entrance of his home. Bobby moves towards it, but Gritty puts up a hand. Not yet, it seems to say. You’ll go in when I say so. Then it moves in front of Jonathan, eyes jiggling with the movement. Jonathan, always together, says “Let’s go, darling!” and they move towards the bathroom that’s been set up for the makeover sequence.

“Cut.” their director says. “We need to set up for the next sequence.” He seems to be staring straight ahead, not even looking at them.

Immediately there’s a feeling of a great weight that’s been lifted. The crew are still not really moving, still blank, but--that’s okay. They’ve worked in a lot of spaces, with a lot of people, Tan thinks. This is just one more. Completely normal. Gritty, now that the camera is off, moves a lot--faster. It immediately heads down the tunnel under the ice, where it lives, not looking at anyone or anything. 

Jonathan breathes in deep, then lets it out. Starts moving towards the break room, to try and get himself together, but a voice stops him.

“Did you get my note.” 

“What’s that, honey?” Jonathan turns and sees--well, a _fine_ specimen of hockey player at the doorway, as far away from Gritty’s exit as possible. If he did something with his hair and clothes and maybe stood up straight, he’d be gorgeous, but Jonathan, frankly, doesn’t expect much from presumably straight hockey players. They’re so gross. 

The hockey player rolls his eyes. “Did you. Get. My note.” His voice is so mumbly that he’s barely able to be understood. 

“Yeah, we got your note,” Bobby says, sliding in next to Jonathan. “I’m guessing you’re...19?”

“Patrick,” #19--Patrick--grumbles. He looks both Bobby and Jonathan directly in the eye. His features are, surprisingly, kind of delicate for a guy who’s over 6 feet and probably 50 pounds of muscle heavier than Jonathan, but frankly he looks so grumpy Jonathan doesn’t really want to address it.. “Don’t get too close to it.”

“Who, Gritty?” Jonathan says. He laughs, trying to keep the small but growing hysteria inside. “You all are doing an awful lot to really sell us on the whole cryptid idea for this, which is very fun, but honestly--”

“It’s not--” Patrick stops, breathes out heavily through his nose. “It’s not a regular mascot. Don’t get close, don’t touch it.”

“What does that mean?” The hysteria grows, a little.

Patrick shrugs, turns to go. “Its eyes are forward facing, dude. It’s a predator. Stay out of its way, you’ll be fine.” He leaves, slides slapping slightly on the floor.

***

Jonathan, shaking off his trepidation after a quick setup break, taps his chin with a small comb, trying to figure out where to start. He looks over to the lone security guard at the corner of the bathroom. _This, in essence, is stupid,_ he tries to communicate telepathically to her, on a whim. It does not work.

To begin with, the fur on Gritty is synthetic; it’s not real, so there’s not much to do with that. He can’t exactly give hair and skin care to a mascot--

Gritty looks at him in the mirror. Jonathan looks him over, the same as he always does with their heroes, and--

Is...is it breathing? No, that’s impossible, it’s not real. But if he looks, there’s a movement up and down through the ribcage, a gentle rise and fall. Jonathan frowns, just a bit, and looks back up. Gritty is looking at him through the glass, and he immediately looks back down, the note ringing in his ears. _Don’t look it directly in the eyes._

“You know,” he says, as cheerfully as he can. “I think, honey, that you are fabulous all on your own! You don’t need me at all to look good!” 

Gritty nods, once. It gets up, towering over Jonathan--and Jonathan is tall, he knows it, so the fact that this mascot is over a foot taller than him--

Gritty moves away, back into the locker room for Karamo, and Jonathan is left with the nagging feeling that he just escaped something very old, very amused, and very, very hungry.

***

“So,” Karamo says. He makes a motion to shift on the uncomfortable metal seat, but stops himself at the last minute. _Its eyes are forward facing_ , Patrick had said. Jesus Christ.

Gritty says nothing. Its eyes sort of...vibrate in their intensity. 

“So,” Karamo says again. _Get it together, man_ , he thinks desperately to himself. “I know this season has been a rough one, with the virus, and everything. I bet you miss the rest of the team?”

Gritty stares at him. Then, all of a sudden, its entire body just sort of...shifts forward, out of the chair, directly towards Karamo. Karamo does his best not to yelp, and fails miserably. _GET ME OUT OF HERE,_ he tries to scream telepathically to the security man at the door. It doesn’t work.

Gritty is standing at a stall, gesturing emphatically. Karamo squints at the name. “Gi-giroux? Oh, the captain, right?” Gritty gestures again. Its hands squeak.  
“Okay, you miss Giroux? What about him do you miss?” 

More squeaking. Gritty performs a series of emphatic gestures that are breathtaking in their succinctness. Its eyes have not left Karamo.

“Oh.” Karamo says. He can feel his face growing hot. “Wow. You...you really miss and….like him a whole lot.” A trickle of sweat drips down his back. “Well, why don’t we think of a way to...show Claude, that you miss him so much? Maybe like...a gift, or something. Something you made him. Something that we can appropriately show on Netflix?”

Gritty stares at him again. Distantly, Karamo notes that it’s not breathing. Then, it squeaks its hands at him, almost as a thank you, and waddles out of the room. 

“How’d it go?” Tan whispers at Karamo as he makes his way towards the player’s room for the fashion segment. Karamo stares straight ahead. “I was not aware you could do the things it was signing. Frankly I did not need to.” He makes his way, straight-backed, towards the catering section, grabs a beer meant for after the shoot, and downs it. Tan turns towards the player’s room, something...cold washing over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees orange synthetic fur.

***

Antoni has...no real sense of expectations with how this is going to go. He read the folder, same as the rest, and all it said under the “Food” section was “No allergies. NOT a vegetarian.” The not in that sentence was both capitalized and underlined, which, frankly, is kind of terrifying and leaves a dizzying array of options. Either way, though, he feels cautiously confident. The other guys seemed pretty...uncomfortable, with Gritty, but he didn’t feel too worried. He’s a mascot, for Christ’s sake. How hard--

Antoni turns around and nearly screams. Gritty is taller and wider than he is. His hands squeak. He’s a mascot designed to turn heads. How is he this quiet. 

“Hey, Grits!” He says, injecting as much pep into his voice as possible. “Ready for some cooking?”

Gritty just looks at him. When he had talked to Karamo, he had mentioned (between dead-eyed sips of beer) that Gritty was still, but this...this is something else. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing. 

“Okay!” he says, trying to make the segment work despite the still silence from his companion. “I was thinking, since we’re in Philly, we should make something quintessentially Philadelphia, you know? What do you think about Philly cheese steak?”

More silence. Antoni, smile firmly pasted on his face, looks at the silent security guard stationed at the door. He tries to say, _Gritty isn’t really helping me here,_ telepathically. It doesn’t work.

He looks back at the camera. The camera people stare back at him, impassively. “Okay, so---”

Suddenly a plate appears, as if by magic, right under his nose. Antoni jumps, and guiltily tries to pretend he doesn’t. On the plate, steaming slightly, is a Philly cheese steak. He looks up and makes eye contact with Gritty. Gritty holds the plate up, staring deeply into Antoni’s eyes. He jostles the plate slightly. His hands squeak in response.

“Oh!” Antoni says, relieved. “Thanks, Grits!” He takes the cheese steak. “I’m so glad you’re down for the Philly cheese steak idea. How about I try this one, you made, and then we can make one together?” He takes a big bite of the cheese steak. “Well--”

Silence. 

A bloom of meat on the tongue, dark and iron and cloying, that dripped down the back of his throat like honey.

A scent of cheese, laced with...what, exactly? Another bite would tell him. Another bite wouldn’t hurt. 

Nothing hurt, Antoni thinks. Nothing hurt at all. 

A glimpse of orange, out of the corner of his eye, and a flash, just one, of something...old. Impossibly old. Just as orange, but majestic, not benevolent but regal. A name floated to the top of his mind-- _great grand-gritty_ , and the giggle at the alliteration died in his throat as its eyes turned toward him, and time and space around him tilted forward and then down, a many-hued mouth with wicked teeth--

“....toni? Antoni?”

His eyes open, and they're back behind the counter, the camera people staring back at him, just as impassive as before. Nothing had changed, except--

There’s a paw, on the back of his neck. A paw, but with fingers, and too many of them, and all with points caressing, just barely, the vulnerable skin. 

Antoni smiles with all of his teeth. He tries not to make it a grimace. “Delicious, Gritty. Thank you so much. This is so good, I don’t think we even need to make anything else. You’re set.” 

Gritty looks him in the eyes. The artificial mouth opens and grows, imperceptibly, wider. Antoni smiles, and tries to look as small and as invisible as he can. The paw digs into his skin once, then lets go.

***

“So.” Tan says.

Gritty stares back at him.

“What sort of things are usually in your wardrobe?” Tan asks. He tries not to grit (ha, grit) his teeth in frustration; Karamo and Antoni may be huddled together shaking in the catering area, but by god he is going to get through his filming section as normal. Someone has to be professional.

Gritty looks at him, then moves towards a section of the locker room blocked off by a sparkly curtain. For something so big, it moves fast; the fact that its little booted feet squeak slightly does nothing to hide the vague sense of menace. It takes one end of the curtain in its--hand? Paw?-- and pulls it back, dramatically.

Tan looks at the unending row of jerseys and costumes and swallows back the first five things on his tongue. He’s seen worse. “I can see you have a focus on sporty here, which is great--how about we try and get together a formal outfit? Just to shake things up?”

Gritty--jumps, is the only way to describe it, its eyes crazily moving in all directions. It claps, its hands squeaking. Tan leans back out of its orbit, and smiles to himself. This is going to go just fine, he thinks.

***

“Wow.” Karamo says. He blinks. 

Gritty shakes its hand at him. The...thing in his hand rattles faintly.

Karamo blinks again. He hadn’t had more than one beer to cover his nerves--he’s a professional, goddammit, no matter how rattled he was--but he still feels off-center somehow.

“Is this the thing you made for Giroux?” he asks. Gritty nods. He brings it closer to Karamo, as though wanting to share. Karamo looks down at it. 

“Wow, that’s...that’s really cool.” He doesn’t touch it, just looks. On the outside, it looks like nothing more than a pile of trash--plastic shards, what looks horrifyingly like Gritty’s hair--but if he squints--

“Oh! Is it a C?” Karamo exclaims. “Since he’s the captain, right? That’s sweet, Gritty.”

Gritty nods once and pulls back its hands. It gently places its creation in Giroux’s stall. He turns to Karamo, staring him dead in the eyes. In the back of his mind, Karamo hears Patrick saying the words of his note: _Don’t look it directly in the eyes. It bites. It bites. It bites…_

“Karamo? You okay, honey?”

Karamo blinks. He’s...back in the catering section, Gritty nowhere to be seen. Jonathan is setting him down, looking at him concernedly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, what happened?”

Karamo looks at the wall across. As though on autopilot, he raises his hand to his neck. The skin isn’t broken, but underneath he can feel something pulse.

***

Bobby crosses his hands and surveys Gritty’s...well, the only way to describe it is a lair. He didn’t really believe the blueprints when they were sent to him in advance, but here we are.

“Well,” he says to his crew. “Let’s get this going, get everything set up.”

“Yes, Bobby.” His crew say, as one, and move forward. Bobby frowns at them. Yeah, it was a long flight from LA, but they usually weren’t this...blank. Impassive. It might be a day to keep a steady eye on them, he thinks. 

As Bobby takes stock of Gritty’s space, he starts feeling...unsettled. Like he’s being watched. Looking around, he tries to get a sense of who it might be, but all he sees is the lone security guard at the entrance. _What the fuck,_ he tries to send telepathically to him. It doesn’t work.

“Bobby.”

He turns and sees Claire, one of the newest members of his skeleton crew. Good girl, great eye for space and a mean hand on a bandsaw. She looks at him, eyes slightly glassy. “What. Do you want me to do with them?”

“Sorry?” 

She points towards a pile at the corner of the room. Bobby moves closer.

“Oh my god,” he says, leaping backward and falling on his ass in the middle of the room. Claire just looks on, doing nothing, why is she doing nothing--

Patrick’s words echo in his head. _It’s a predator._

“Okay!” he shouts. All of his crew’s heads turn towards him as one. Pack up your stuff! This space is--” he swallows. “This space is perfect, no need for change, let’s go, grab your gear--”

Bobby is the first out. The security guard makes no move to stop him.

***

“Okay!” Tan says, clapping his hands together. Gritty stands in front of the mirror, in a truly massive tuxedo jersey that does nothing to hide how large it is. 

“You look fantastic,” he says. He’s not lying, is the thing--Gritty looks sharp in this jersey. “I think this really suits you.”

Gritty looks at him through the mirror. Its eyes move gently from side to side, independent of each other. Tan shifts. “Well, what do you think?”

Gritty turns. Christ, for something that big it sure moves fast, Tan thinks, before it gently grabs his arms, holding him in place. It is immediately clear that Gritty is extraordinarily strong; its paws flex once against Tan’s arms, and he can feel bruises begin to pop up under his sweater.

“Bit strong there,” he says weakly. Gritty makes no move to loosen his grip. Tan looks over to the solitary security guard, leaning against the doorframe. _Hey, a little help here,_ he tries to send telepathically to her. It doesn’t work.

Gritty’s mouth, all styrofoam and fabric, widens in a sort of smile. It leans down, and just briefly, brushes against Tan’s forehead. 

_It feels like a real mouth, is the thing,_ Tan thinks fuzzily. It feels real. There’s breath, smelling like the cold shock of ice. There’s give, as though there’s flesh under there. There’s the whisper of thousands upon thousands of sharp, pointed teeth. And there’s a bone-deep feeling of...pleasure, of contentment, that rockets through Tan through the contact. For a moment, Tan is lost in a haze, a space devoid of time or anything else. There is a glimpse of--something, and a hint of depth beyond anything humanly measured.

Gritty stands up, drops Tan to the floor. He waddles towards the doorframe, pushing past the security guard. In a moment, he’s gone.

Tan breathes in once. Twice. Makes his way through the door on unsteady legs. Sits down next to Antoni, who is sitting ramrod straight against the wall.

“Gritty,” says Tan.

Antoni opens his mouth, shuts it again. He gropes for Tan’s hand and holds on tight.  
***

The five of them stand in the locker room with Gritty, facing the camera. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan can see Patrick in the corner, next to the security guard, hunched over his phone. 

“Well, everyone, I think we all agree when we say that Gritty is absolutely perfect in every way,” Jonathan says. The boys all nod, a line of bobbleheads. Bobby motions towards the camera. He makes a gesture towards the cavernous opening of Gritty’s...home. “Absolutely perfect,” he states. He makes no effort to step in and show it. “There’s nothing that needs to change. Gritty’s setup is perfect for him.”

Tan gestures towards Gritty, who is still wearing the tuxedo jersey. “He looks--great,” he says. Doesn’t think of the kiss. Deliberately doesn’t think of anything at all. “Look at him. He looks fantastic.” 

Antoni doesn’t say anything. They gracefully skip over him.

“Gritty really was focused on--” Karamo starts. He chokes a little. “He wanted to show how much he thought about his captain. So he made--” Gritty pulls out the contraption that he left in Giroux’s locker and shows it to the camera. It cradles it delicately, like a child. 

“He made something special for him,” Karamo finishes. “Gritty doesn’t need to change anything, but I’m glad I was here to see it.” He feels almost ill by the end.

“Thank you Gritty, and the Philadelphia Flyers for letting us do this with you!” Tan says. Jonathan doesn’t call to attention the trembling of his voice. Next to him, Karamo and Antoni stare towards the camera. Jonathan would bet a lot of money that they are not in fact seeing anything. 

The director makes a cutting motion, but doesn’t say anything. The crew, blank as they have been for this whole shoot, start packing up. Gritty turns to them all. It...bows, almost, looking at each of them in turn. Jonathan looks determinedly at his feet. Then, so lightly and silently for its size, it turns and goes down into its lair. 

There is silence. 

“Okay!” Jonathan says. It’s clear that he’s the best off, of all of them, and someone needs to take charge. Let’s get back in the car, because I for one am beat!” They all look at him, then move towards the door. Karamo and Antoni are supporting each other. 

Patrick sneers at them as they leave. “Told you not to look it in the eye,” he says.

Jonathan looks askance at him. At any other point, on any other shoot, he’d be friendlier, but this? After this clusterfuck? He has no patience for #19-Patrick, no matter how pretty he is. “Wow, thanks! Has anyone ever called you a big rude bitch before? Because they should!” he says, smiling. Fuck Patrick anyway, with his inability to speak loudly and his shitty warning notes. If he had been nominated, things would have gone a lot easier.

Patrick goes brilliantly, incandescently red. Staring determinedly at his phone, he mumbles, “Yeah, well--uh--I have to go,” and lurches unsteadily towards the rink. His exit is promptly ruined by smacking into the door frame. 

Jonathan smirks. Serves him right.

As they near the exit, another person walks by them, clearly another hockey player. Unlike Patrick, who seemed to deliberately make himself look about fourteen with the attitude to match, this person seems...almost like an adult. The beard, at least, seems to give him the gravitas as such. 

“Gritty! Where are you, bud!” he shouts, and, ominously in the distance, comes the squeaking of hands and feet.

“Run,” Karamo grits out. It’s the first he’s spoken since wrapping up his segment, and his voice sounds like it’s been run through glass. “Run, run, RUN!”

They start running, and burst through the doors as one, get into the car as one. Karamo hits the gas, almost stalls out, and then they’re gone, they’re free, they’re out of the parking lot and hitting the highway, and Tan turns back to Jonathan, Bobby and Antoni and says, 

“Never again. We’re never doing this again. Fuck Gritty.”

Everyone nods.


End file.
